Chapter 10: The Kennel

Ianthe had told him she would come for him.

Cassiel lay on the straw in the Marquess of Morcaine's kennel and prayed to every god he had ever cursed that she wouldn't.

The cage was the same one.

Ten weeks ago he had woken up in it, on this straw, with four legs and a taste in his mouth.

His name was Cassiel Norvaine.

He was the Duke of Norvaine, and for ten weeks he had been a wolf.

Morcaine came after dark, as Cassiel had known he would.

He brought a lamp and a stool and sat outside the bars.

"Hello again, Your Grace."

Cassiel didn't move.

"You've been busy," Morcaine said. "Knocking over viscounts. Standing on my nephew. He jumps at doorbells now."

He smiled.

"I'll admit I didn't expect you to survive the Prince's hunt. That was meant to be the end of it. A neat little joke."

"Norvaine's arms are a black wolf on silver. I thought you'd like to die as your own crest."

Cassiel watched the lamp flame in his pale eyes.

At the Emperor's victory feast Morcaine had handed him a cup of wine and said, "To Halvreth."

Cassiel had drunk it, because he had been raised to drink a toast.

The next morning he would have put the army's pay ledger in the Emperor's hand.

Every sack of grain Morcaine had sold out from under the soldiers was in it.

Every bag of clipped coin he had paid them with instead.

"You're wondering if it ever ends," Morcaine said. "I'll tell you, since you can't repeat it."

He leaned closer to the bars.

"The old woman I hired says it holds until someone who knows what you are calls you by your name. That's all it takes."

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